Many knocks against my skull-bone,
Ye alone shall hear my secret:
Soon the Spring himself he cometh,
And then, when the buds are bursting,
Lark and blackbird sing their carols,
And with fervent heat the Spring sun
Brightly on your heads is shining,
Then remember me, the Storm-wind,
Who to-day, with boisterous fury
As his harbinger swept past."

Speaking thus, he shook the tree-tops
With great roughness; boughs are snapping,
Branches falling, and a thick, fine
Rain of pine-leaves crackles downward.
But the fir-trees, quite indignant,
Took small notice of this homage.
From their summits rang the answer,
Rather scolding, I should call it:
"You unmannerly rude fellow!
We will have no business with you,
And regret much that the finest
Lords have oft the rudest servants.
To the Alps begone directly,
There is sport fit for your humour;
There stand walls of rock all barren;
Entertain yourself with them there."

Now, while thus the storm and fir-trees
Held such converse with each other,
Could be heard a horse's footfall.
Toiling through the snow-piled wood-path
Seeks his way a weary horseman;
Gaily flutters in the storm-wind,
To and fro, his long gray mantle,
His fair curling locks are waving,
And, from out the cocked-up hat there
Boldly nods a heron's feather.
On his lips was just appearing
Such a downy beard as ladies
Much admire, because it showeth
That its bearer is a man, still
One whose kisses will not wound them.
But not many pretty lips had
Felt the soft touch of this beard yet.
Which, as if for fun and mischief,
Snow and ice now decked with crystals.
In his clear blue eyes were glowing
Warmth and mildness, earnest meaning,
And you could not doubt his fist would
Strike a valiant blow, when needed,
With the heavy basket-hilted
Sword, which, worn suspended by a
Black belt from his shoulder, well-nigh
Grazed the ground as he was riding.
Wound around his riding-doublet
Was a sash, to which was tied the
Richly-gilded shining trumpet,
Which he often with his mantle
Sheltered from the falling snow-flakes;
But, whene'er the wind pierced through it,